


Ermintrude Saves the Day

by Mara



Series: The Ermintrude Chronicles [1]
Category: Secret Adventures of Jules Verne
Genre: Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-15
Updated: 2009-12-15
Packaged: 2017-10-04 11:22:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mara/pseuds/Mara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even heroes have families. Much as they might wish otherwise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ermintrude Saves the Day

**Author's Note:**

> I *was* writing another angsty piece when Ermintrude knocked on my door, barged in, demanded tea, and told me her life story. She rapped my knuckles when I wrote anything else. This story is entirely her fault.
> 
> Actually, this story is the fault of Aspen, who commented that Phileas and Rebecca might have a whole raft of relatives with appalling names. Thanks again to Aspen, Ellen, and Monique for comments, and Aspen for Ermintrude's history. If you like her, she may return.
> 
> Oh, and any resemblance to my grandmothers is strictly coincidental, since my grandmothers aren't *nearly* this sweet and nice. No kidding.

"Great Aunt Ermintrude!" Rebecca's astonished voice said.

"What does the old bat want?" Phileas asked, turning the page of his newspaper.

"To start with, the old bat would like a cup of tea, if that's not too much trouble." Ermintrude's sharp voice said. Phileas jumped as if he had been stuck with a pin, which he would certainly have preferred to Ermintrude's presence. He turned slowly, hoping this was a feeble joke of Rebecca's. No such luck.

Phileas was struck for a moment by the fact that Ermintrude looked exactly as she had for the approximately the last 30 years, tightly curled white hair, beady eyes to match the beaded gown, and furled umbrella. Perhaps she spent her nights in a machine like Count Gregory, pumped full of...

"Phileas, have you heard anything I've said?" Ermintrude asked, following the question with her trademark sharp rap on his ankle with her umbrella. "You know, in my day, a young man would have already asked me to sit down and provided tea. In fact, young men were simply more polite."

"Or more afraid." Phileas muttered.

"What was that? My hearing isn't what it used to be."

"Nothing, Aunt Ermintrude." Phileas said through gritted teeth. "Please, won't you sit down." He glared at Rebecca who stood behind Ermintrude, doubled over with laughter.

* * *

  
Tea was painful. Phileas began to wish for the League of Darkness, armed soldiers, anything.

"Then young Phileas looked at the rector and asked him..." Ermintrude was saying.

"Surely you don't need to tell this story." Phileas said sharply.

"Young man, kindly do not interrupt me. I cannot imagine where you developed your manners, but it certainly wasn't at my table." Ermintrude said with certitude. The old bat was most certainly a few sandwiches short of a picnic, Phileas thought, glancing longingly at the whiskey decanter on the sideboard.

Rebecca thought it was perhaps time to change the subject. "Ermie dear, what brings you to town?"

Ermintrude smiled at the young woman, really such good manners. "I was having tea with Lady Ponsonby and I noticed your balloon over the trees. So, of course, I came by to see you."

"Since you're here, would you like to join us this evening? We've been invited to a dance this evening and I'm sure the host wouldn't mind if we brought you."

Phileas stared at his cousin in dismay. Surely, she could not be inviting Aunt Ermintrude to join them when they had work to do. Rebecca smiled at the look on his face. While Ermintrude was berating Passepartout for adding too much lemon to the tarts, she leaned across the table.

"Phileas, it's not as if we'll be breaking and entering. This is just a chance to speak to a few people, and Ermintrude will provide cover by drawing attention away from us. It will be fine."

"Rebecca dear, if we come out of this evening alive, I will remind you of that statement."

* * *

"Fogg, I don't know what you're making such a fuss about. How much trouble could your Aunt Ermintrude possibly cause?" Jules smiled at the look on Phileas' face. Really, he looked as if he were girding up for a visit with Count Gregory.

"No so loud, Verne." Phileas snarled, but it was too late. Behind Jules two men started at his words.

The older man was the first to recover. "Fogg, I must have been mistaken, but I could swear that your young friend mentioned Ermintrude Fogg."

"Yes, he did. Rebecca invited her to join us this evening."

The younger man stared in horror. "Surely you're joking. Doesn't your cousin remember the *last* time?"

"Unfortunately, Rebecca was absent that evening and refuses to believe my recital of events."

"But...but...the Count and his wife and his mistress...and the fishpond... and...."

"Don't remind me. Please."

"What happened, Fogg?" Jules asked.

"If you value your life, you will not ask me to describe that evening to you."

* * *

Ermintrude stood behind Rebecca, brushing her hair.

"I'm glad you are here, Ermie. I've missed our chats."

"As have I, my dear. Who else can I tell about my wartime exploits?"

"I'm always happy to listen. In fact, I should thank you. The things you taught me helped me become the first female agent in the British Secret Service."

"I'm glad to hear you have what you wanted, Rebecca." Ermintrude said. "Speaking of which, what is this I hear about a young man you've been seen with, a Mr. Verne?"

"I find it hard to believe you're playing matchmaker, Ermie."

"Who said you should marry him?"

"Ermie!" Rebecca laughed. "You'll meet Jules later, he's a dear. Speaking of which, perhaps you shouldn't be so hard on Phileas, he has had rather a hard time of it lately."

"You should know by now that constant attention is required to keep men in line, especially Foggs. Besides, at my age if I don't keep them on their toes they will think I'm going soft."

"You? Never."

* * *

Ermintrude and Rebecca sailed into the room like a pair of particularly impressive battleships, causing approximately the same stir. Reaction was divided between young men swooning at Rebecca's low-cut gown and older men looking for a hiding place when they recognized Ermintrude Fogg. However, it was too late, Ermintrude had sighted her first victim.

"Charlie!" she boomed at a scared-looking man in the center of the room, "So good to see you. And how is your darling wife?"

"F-fine." Lord Charles Vincent stammered, looking wildly around him in hopes of rescue. "And how..."

"So she did come home? I really expected that she and her harp teacher would stay in Italy, the weather is so much better this time of year. What was his name? Vittorio. Something like that. Very handsome man, and so *young*." Ermintrude turned to the man standing next to Lord Vincent. "John, I would have recognized you anywhere. Those ears, you know. I told your mother that binding them against your head was the only *possible* solution, but she was always a stubborn woman. Never took my advice."

Jules seemed unable to decide whether to cheer her on or duck before she got to him. Phileas had reached the point of resignation, emptying the glass he held in his hand and trying to find Rebecca. His only hope of surviving the evening was to get their work out of the way fast and take Ermintrude away before she could provoke another incident like the fishpond. Or the duel. He shuddered, hoping no one else remembered that one.

Rebecca had already disappeared into the crowd. Impressive. Perhaps she was right about Ermintrude's usefulness. Time to get started, then. From the other side of the room, he could hear scattered phrases from Aunt Ermintrude. When he heard her say something to Lord Marbury about "that horrid rash" he resolutely moved further away, looking for the first man he needed to speak to.

* * *

"He knows who the spies are." Rebecca said. "I think we should arrange the meeting for this evening."

"Shouldn't we investigate further?" Phileas asked.

"The sooner we find out what he knows, the sooner we can head to Paris and leave Aunt Ermintrude behind." Rebecca said.

"Tonight."

* * *

The details of hustling Aunt Ermintrude out the door and into the carriage are perhaps better left unmentioned, although the incident with the Countess, the suit of armor and the polished floor...no, we should not allow ourselves to be distracted.

Phileas and Rebecca planned to drop Ermintrude at the Aurora and leave her and Jules behind while they met their suspect.

"Why are you in such a hurry?" Ermintrude asked.

"I've developed a headache." Phileas said quickly.

"Don't try to lie to me Phileas," Ermintrude said. "You couldn't do it when you were eight, and it's unlikely you can do it now."

"What did he do when he was eight?" Rebecca asked, a fascinated tone in her voice.

"Don't try to change the subject, dear. It was a minor incident involving a cricket ball and my front window. Now, what are you up to?"

"Ermie, we have work to do." Rebecca said.

"Work?" Ermintrude asked. "Where are you going at this time of the evening?"

"Aunt Ermintrude, will all due respect..." Phileas began.

"Hmmph."

"With all due respect, I believe you should leave Secret Service business to us."

"Don't be a prig, Phileas."

Closing his eyes momentarily, Phileas began again. "We have business to conduct. It is safer for you not to know what we are doing."

"Well, I will not sleep a wink until I know you are both safe. I seem to recall more than a few sleepless nights when you were younger. Phileas, I'm sure you recall when you were arrested for starting a fight over that young lady. Perhaps young Mr. Verne would consent to wait with me on the Aurora while you conduct your business." Ermintrude beamed at Jules.

Jules wasn't precisely thrilled by the idea, but the look on Phileas' face convinced him. The sentence for parricide was undoubtedly harsh.

* * *

Jules paced the room anxiously, waiting for Phileas and Rebecca to return. Aunt Ermintrude, left in his care, considered him. A polite young man, not perhaps overly bright, but certainly useful for her next activity.

"Do you know where they went?" Ermintrude asked.

"Well, yes." Jules said hesitantly.

"Let's go, then," she said briskly. "I can't let it be said that I allowed them to go into danger without my help." Jules gaped at her, and she rapped his ankle with her umbrella. "Come along then, what are you waiting for, an engraved invitation?"

"Well," Jules mumbled, "it *is* my show, so I might as well..."

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

* * *

Passepartout was not entirely certain this was a good idea. In fact, he was becoming more and more certain this was a thoroughly bad idea. Almost as bad as the time he developed a new form of laundry starch. Jules knew with deep certainty this was a *very* bad idea. Both wondered what they were doing. Ermintrude Fogg often had this effect on people.

Ermintrude sighed with contentment. It really wasn't fair that the children were the only ones who got to have any fun. It had been *years* since she had caught any villains.

The carriage stopped a few blocks from the planned meeting place, and Passepartout's worried face appeared in the window. "Here we are, Master Jules, Miss Ermintrude, but are you sure here you want to be?"

"Of course," Ermintrude said firmly. "Let's go see how they're doing."

Clad in a black dress, umbrella in hand, she climbed out of the carriage and strode firmly down the street toward the park. Passepartout and Jules, with misgivings grown to the size of an elephant, followed her.

* * *

Phileas leaned oh-so-casually against a tree, looking around as Rebecca convinced their target to give her the information. It was going swimmingly, he thought. Another few minutes and this man would give them the evidence they needed for Chatsworth to make arrests.

His pleased thoughts came to a halt at a strange sound from nearby. A person? More than one? He reached for his gun, but was too slow. From the surrounding trees appeared five men, guns aimed at them.

"Damn." Phileas said distinctly. He and Rebecca stood very still calculating distances, looking for a way out. It didn't look good.

"Wonderful!" one of the men said, aiming his gun at Rebecca. "Do you know just how many people will pay me for killing you? I'm so close to that villa in Rome, I can practically taste it!"

"Killing me for profit rather than principle, hmm? How depressing. Whatever happened to the good old days when a villain gloated over the victory of his worldview? What do you think, Phileas?"

"Oh, I agree completely." Phileas assured her. "Standards of villainy have sunk to a new low."

"Quiet!" the lead villain screamed, reaching out as if to strike Rebecca. However, he was startled to find that his blow failed to land, deflected as it was by a large black umbrella, wielded by an angry elderly woman.

"Shame on you, striking a woman!" the vision said, just before hitting him over the head with her umbrella.

Jules and Passepartout leapt out of the shrubbery to tackle the nearest surprised henchmen and Rebecca and Phileas neatly toppled the remaining two.

"Children," Ermintrude said, "I'm sure this was a very important and dangerous mission. I wasn't born yesterday, you know. But wouldn't it have been easier to just ask for my help? Oh, Rebecca, a bit of advice -- show a bit of ankle next time. That always worked for me."


End file.
